Dutybound
by Lys ap Adin
Summary: Sanada is a very dutiful son. Luckily for him, sometimes life gives out second chances. SanadaYukimura


Notes: Future fic.

* * *

**Duty-bound**

Yukimura Seiichi left them when he was sixteen.

That was how Niou phrased it for the school reporter who came around the following summer, after they'd taken Nationals for the third year running. "He left," Niou said, with a careless shrug that wasn't. "You think he gives a damn about a high school tournament when the U.S. Open is going on?"

The reporter chose a more diplomatic quote from Jackal to use for his article. "Yukimura-kun's heart belongs to tennis," Jackal said in that slow, thoughtful way he had. "We would have held him back, if he'd stayed any longer."

* * *

Genichirou was certain that Seiichi had told him first, before anyone else. "It's a good offer, don't you think?" he'd asked, turning the cup of tea in his hands.

"It's an excellent offer," Genichirou had agreed, because it was: a sponsorship to play tennis professionally, to travel the world and to do nothing but play tennis against the very best there were. Echizen was already out there, making ripples that were turning into tidal waves. "Will you accept it?"

Seiichi had smiled. "What do you think?"

He'd felt cold, even with the warmth of the kotatsu covering his lap. "It's an incredible opportunity," he'd said, and had wrapped his fingers around his teacup to warm them.

Seiichi had looked away, then. "It is." When he looked back, his smile had turned crooked. "Who will you choose for vice-captain?"

"Renji, perhaps," Genichirou had said. "Or Akaya, if Renji would rather have the time to concentrate on his studies."

"I would choose Akaya," Seiichi had murmured. "If it were my decision."

Genichirou had nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

And that was how it was decided.

* * *

When they'd seen Seiichi off, the whole group of them accompanying him to Narita, Genichirou had necessarily thought that that would be that--that Seiichi being half the world away would draw them all apart.

He'd been wrong.

Seiichi wrote often, sometimes on paper, with a flower from France pressed between the folds because it had caught his eye. More typically, he sent emails with photos attached, tennis courts and landmarks, places that Genichirou had only ever seen in books. Sometimes he tried to picture Seiichi among the skyscrapers of New York, or walking through the gardens of Versailles, but it was difficult to do, and he abandoned the effort.

He kept the pictures, though, and the letters and emails, transferring them from his old computer to the sleeker laptop he took to university, because as hard as it was to imagine, all of those places were connected now to Seiichi.

* * *

**Interviewer:** And now for the important questions! Tell me, because all of our readers are dying to know--are you eligible?

**Yukimura:** (_laughing_) Do you mean, am I single?

**Interviewer:** Of course! What else would I mean?

**Yukimura:** (_smiles)_ I'm single.

* * *

Akaya went pro the second he graduated high school--his parents had insisted on as much, and he'd chafed under their restraints every step of the way.

Tezuka, the year before, had done the very same thing.

Genichirou himself had retired as captain of the top high school tennis team in Japan, and immediately begun studying for the Tokyo University entrance exam.

"It's funny," he overheard Marui saying one afternoon, just before graduation. "I figured Sanada would have been out of here to go after buchou by now. I didn't think he'd go the university route."

"Perhaps he has his reasons," Jackal replied.

"Yeah? Like what?"

"You'd have to ask him."

Genichirou waited unseen until the subject changed before he finally stepped around the corner.

Marui never did ask.

* * *

_you're not going to rikkai for university?_ Seiichi wrote, when Genichirou had written him to let him know that he'd been accepted to Tokyo University. _they've got a better tennis team than tokyo._

It took a few days before Genichirou could make himself reply to that email.

_I'm not going to continue with tennis. I have to concentrate on my studies._

Seiichi never replied to that.

* * *

Renji had given even odds on whether Atobe would go pro, or go to university; Genichirou had bet on pro. Now, watching Atobe hold court with the more impressionable women in their chemistry class, he sighed, and fished out his phone to send Renji a text message: _I owe you lunch._

Renji's reply a few minutes later was nothing more than the name of a restaurant. Genichirou just shook his head, and wondered how simple pixels could be so smug.

* * *

Seiichi wrote:

_atobe is at tokyo, too? i suppose family won out after all. pity. try not to kill him._

* * *

It was a few days before Atobe strolled over to where Genichirou was sitting, and propped a hip up on the neighboring desk. "Sanada," he said, with what Genichirou could only assume he thought was a gracious smile. "Fancy meeting you here."

Genichirou put his book down; there was no chance now that he'd get his literature reading done before class. He'd only had another page, too. "What do you want?"

Atobe's smile turned a fraction wider. "Is that any way to greet an old friend, Sanada?"

Genichirou blinked. Friends? _Them?_ Occasionally polite rivals, perhaps, but old friends? "Did you hit your head, Atobe?"

Atobe's laugh was rich. "It's good to see that being detached from Yukimura's hip has left your personality intact," he observed.

Genichirou kept his palms flat on his desk. "What do you want, Atobe?" he asked again. "Class is going to start soon."

"You don't eat lunch with anyone," Atobe said.

He stared. "I am not going to ask how you know that."

Atobe shrugged. "As utterly _charming_ as I know you are, it was an easy guess."

"The professor is coming in, Atobe," he grated. "Get on with it."

Atobe snorted. "Come to lunch with me today. I want to talk to you."

This had to be a joke. Genichirou stared at him.

Atobe lifted an eyebrow. "Well?"

"Your treat," Genichirou said, since he'd lost that bet with Renji, and it might make Atobe balk.

"Of course," Atobe said, careless, and turned to walk back down to his seat. "Later, Sanada."

* * *

Atobe flitted from topic to topic as the waiter brought the appetizers he'd ordered, and their salads, touching on the way the chemistry was being taught ("I learned this in _tenth grade_," he sniffed.) and Tokyo University's amenities ("It could be worse, I suppose.") until Genichirou wanted to stab him with a breadstick, just to shut him up.

And then he came to the point abruptly, after the waiter had deposited their entrees and withdrawn. "Has Tamura-sensei cornered you yet?" he asked.

"Last week," Genichirou said.

Atobe lifted an eyebrow. "And yet you're not on the tennis team."

Tamura-sensei was stubborn and had been outraged when he'd said he wasn't going to play. Genichirou shrugged. "I have to worry about my grades."

When he looked up from his pasta, he saw that Atobe's smile was small, and wry. "So do I," he said. "How's your food?"

"Not bad," Genichirou said.

Atobe snorted. "Tomorrow, we're having Greek."

Genichirou surprised himself by nodding and saying, "That's fine."

* * *

Genichirou wrote back:

_I can't kill him. Who would I have to eat lunch with if I did?_

Seiichi never answered that question, although it wasn't wholly rhetorical; Renji had chosen to go on at Rikkai, and although Yagyuu was at Tokyo, without tennis, their paths rarely crossed.

* * *

The first time he opened a tennis magazine and saw Seiichi's face looking back at him was jarring. One of Seiichi's emails had mentioned it (_i think it's silly, but my agent likes it._), but Genichirou hadn't thought any more about it.

Now, staring at the advertisement (for a tennis racquet, it seemed, although that wasn't immediately obvious, as the manufacturer's logo faded against the backdrop of Seiichi, lean and dangerous, staring intently at the camera), Genichirou felt his mouth running dry.

"Sorry I'm late, Sanada-kun!" his lab partner caroled, dropping into the seat opposite him. "The bus was running behind. I hope you weren't waiting long."

"No, it's fine," he said.

Nakagawa-chan smiled. "Oh, good. What're you looking at?" She leaned over the table to snag the magazine, and then whistled. "Oh, _my_." She looked up, smile turning wicked. "Your type?"

Nakagawa-chan didn't respect boundaries very well. "I went to high school with him."

"You went to high school with an idol? Wow." She traced a fingertip over the glossy paper, following the line of one of Seiichi's bare shoulders. "Can you introduce me?"

"He's not an idol. He plays tennis," Genichirou said. "He just won the U.S. Open."

"I'm sure I'd be impressed if I knew what that meant," Nakagawa-chan grinned.

"You should be," Genichirou said, and rescued his magazine. "I know I am." He tucked it back into his back, and pulled out his notes for chemistry.

* * *

**Interviewer:** You know, you're one of the most eligible bachelors in tennis. You have quite the reputation.

**Yukimura:** Do I?

**Interviewer:** You do. I hear you get a lot of fan mail.

**Yukimura:** More than my fair share, but I think it's nice. I enjoy it.

**Interviewer:** But you're still single?

**Yukimura:** Tennis is my lover.

**Interviewer:** (_laughs_)

* * *

Atobe was, without a doubt, and without exception, the single most infuriating person Genichirou had ever known (which was an honor he had previously accorded Niou).

He was also, Genichirou decided, staring at the ceiling dazedly, shockingly good in bed.

Atobe stirred next to him, and propped himself up on an elbow. "Impressed yet?" he drawled.

He couldn't let that one pass unchallenged. "Should I be?"

"With an attitude like that, it's no wonder you're still single," Atobe murmured, just before he swooped down to plunder Genichirou's mouth again.

Genichirou didn't bother correcting his mistake; he suspected Atobe knew that it wasn't an issue of attitude that had kept him single for so long.

* * *

He and Renji met for lunch at least once a month to compare notes on their classes and their classmates, and to talk. Renji was working steadily towards his degree--literature, which would make him fit for exactly one thing, he'd say, smiling, and that was teaching. Sometimes they played tennis, if their schedules permitted. Even though he'd stopped playing while Genichirou still played regularly with Atobe, Renji could still push him.

He could also make Genichirou squirm, even now. "Don't be silly, Renji," he said. "I wouldn't go into government service if it wasn't what I wanted to do."

Renji's silence was a measuring one. "Wouldn't you?"

* * *

_government, huh? i don't know, genichirou. i have a hard time seeing you as a bureaucrat._

Genichirou stared at the screen for a long time before he wrote, _It's what Tousan wants_, and promptly erased it.

_Everyone says that._ He erased that, too.

Finally, he wrote, _It's what I'm going to do._

He let that stand, and Seiichi didn't bring it up again.

* * *

At the end of their fourth year, they watched the Australian Open at Atobe's apartment, because he had the best home theater that Genichirou had ever seen; they might as well have had courtside seats in Melbourne.

Knowing Atobe had its benefits.

"That could have been us," Atobe said, as Tezuka and Seiichi faced off in the final round.

"Mm," Genichirou said.

"Why aren't you there?" Atobe asked, eyes fixed on the screen. "You're not the only son. You're not even the oldest son."

"No," Genichirou said, "I'm not."

"Then why aren't you out there?" Atobe asked, as the rally onscreen came to an end, 15-all. "Why aren't you out there with Yukimura, where you belong?"

"Because," Genichirou said, after the space of several heartbeats. "I'm still a responsible son."

Atobe let out a slow breath. "Ah. That's how it is?"

Genichirou didn't look at him. "That's how it is."

They broke up a few weeks later, just before Atobe's omiai, although it was less breaking-up than a mutual agreement to go their separate ways. Genichirou threw himself into the job his father found for him in his department of the Ministry of Finance, and told himself that he didn't miss Atobe at all.

* * *

_so what do you do all day?_ Seiichi wrote.

Genichirou shook his head and smiled at that.

_I answer emails, and look through reports, and I write reports for my supervisor, who turns them in to his supervisor. I probably know more about the fiscal status of Niigata-ken than any man alive should know._

Seiichi replied, _sounds kind of boring._

Genichirou thought about the days where all it seemed like he did was move papers from one place to another. _It is._ He erased that as soon as he'd written it.

_It pays the bills._

And it didn't do to think about how long it'd be before he'd be promoted high enough for his job to mean something.

Seiichi's reply wasn't long in coming. _so does digging ditches._

He made a face. _I didn't go to Tokyo University to dig ditches._

_pity. digging ditches sounds like more fun. at least you'd be outside._

Genichirou looked at his windowless office, and didn't respond.

* * *

He did not attend Atobe's wedding, although Atobe had sent him an invitation, ostentatious with gilt and calligraphy. He returned the card with his regrets, and spent the evening with his new coworkers, drinking more than was good for him.

It didn't matter how much he drank; it couldn't drown the thought that eventually it would be his turn, too.

* * *

**Interviewer:** Tennis is your lover? Haven't you ever been in love?

**Yukimura:** (_silent_)

**Interviewer:** Not _ever_?

**Yukimura:** Once.

**Interviewer:** What happened?

**Yukimura:** Nothing ever came of it.

* * *

Genichirou placed a careful tick next to "I will attend" and wrote "1" in the blank next to "Number attending". It had been a couple of years since he'd seen Jackal, and he'd been surprised by the invitation, and rather pleased that Jackal had invited him to the wedding.

He tucked the response card into the provided envelope and sealed it, and put it with his briefcase to drop in the mail the next morning, and reminded himself to make sure that his mother didn't hear about this.

It wasn't like she needed any more reasons to ask him when she could expect to see _him_ married.

He shook his head at the thought. Not yet. Someday, perhaps, when he couldn't avoid it any longer, but not yet. He was in his twenties, still. There was time.

* * *

Jackal called him. "I just wanted to let you know we got your card," he said, after they'd gotten the niceties of exchanging pleasantries with each other. "I'm glad you're coming."

"I wouldn't miss it," Genichirou assured him.

Jackal's answering laugh was low and rich. "That's what buchou said, too."

"...Seiichi's going to be there?" Genichirou could count on his fingers the number of times Seiichi had been back to Japan in the past ten years. Most of them had involved the Japan Open.

"He is. Now, if I could just pin Niou down, we might be able to have a proper reunion." Jackal was quiet for a moment. "I think that would be good."

"It would be," Genichirou agreed.

* * *

The package showed up a week before Jackal's wedding. It had no return address on it, and all it contained was a single magazine--a U.S. magazine, by the looks of it, and going by the neon pinks and yellows of the cover, and what he could decipher of the English on it, one aimed at teenaged girls.

Genichirou flipped it open, paging through the advertisements and the articles more out of curiosity than anything else, and wrinkled his nose at the stale-sweet waft of the perfume samples. Perhaps it was a prank, he thought, although pranks generally made more sense than this.

He turned past a full-page ad for jeans--or shampoo? or maybe lipstick, for all he knew--and nearly dropped the magazine when he saw Seiichi smiling up at him, polite and distant.

His English was rusty, but the headline was simple: INTERVIEW WITH THE HOTTEST TENNIS PLAYER AROUND! it blared.

Frowning, puzzled, Genichirou took the magazine to his desk, searched through his bookshelf for his English dictionary, and sat down to read it.

* * *

**Interviewer:** So what would a girl like me have to do to win your heart, Seiichi?

**Yukimura:** (_long pause_) You'd have to love tennis as much as I do.

**Interviewer:** (_laughing_) Can anyone do that?

**Yukimura:** (_smiles_) Probably not. I'm doomed to be alone.

* * *

There was a note stuck to the last page of the interview.

_You know he's talking about you, right?_

* * *

Jackal's wedding wasn't quite traditional, and wasn't quite Western, but it _was_ attended by the full complement of Rikkai's tennis Regulars, and the reception, which was half-wedding party and half-reunion, was raucous, loud with music and laughter, and well-lubricated by sake.

Genichirou caught himself lingering near Seiichi--more than lingering, really; he even let himself be swept onto the dance floor for a while, dancing not-quite-opposite of Seiichi. A person couldn't do that for very long. Seiichi threw himself into dancing the way he did anything he enjoyed, and it was very attractive. Genichirou lost his spot next to Seiichi quickly, to a woman in a low-cut dress and strappy sandals, who lost it to one of the women in the wedding party, who lost it to someone else. Genichirou stopped keeping track at that point, and concentrated on staying near Seiichi, watching him toss his head back and laugh as sweat gleamed on his face and throat. It was enough, and not a bad strategy for all that, because time and time again, the eddy of the dance floor brought them together.

He didn't much care for dancing, normally, but for once he wished it could go on forever.

"How long are you staying?" Genichirou asked later, when things were starting to wind down and the reception hall's staff had begun to wear patient expressions. He began rolling his shirtsleeves down, and refastened his cuffs.

"A few days," Seiichi said, not bothering with his shirtsleeves at all, or his tie, which was draped around his neck. He picked up a suit jacket, shook it out, and handed it to Genichirou.

"We should get together while you're in town," Genichirou suggested. "If you don't have any other obligations." He shrugged the jacket on.

"No," Seiichi said, claiming his own jacket and draping it over his shoulders. "No other--"

Marui swooped down on them, and threw an arm around Seiichi's shoulders. "So I was thinking we should get everyone together while you and the brat are in town, assuming we can pry Jackal away from Aya-chan. Whaddaya say, buchou?"

"Sounds lovely," Seiichi said, as Genichirou said, "That's a good idea."

They both stopped, and laughed. Niou drifted over to ask what was so funny. By the time he'd had the joke explained to him, Renji was there, and taking charge of organizing the outing.

Seiichi laughed again when they asked him his schedule. "I don't have one," he said, pushing the hair out of his eyes. "Just call me when you figure out what we're doing."

"Yakiniku!" Akaya proclaimed, triggering an immediate argument.

As Marui tried to dissuade him, and Niou took up for the yakiniku plan, Seiichi sidled closer to Genichirou. "I'm going," he said. "See you later." He offered his hand.

"Later," Genichirou agreed, and took it.

Seiichi smiled and pressed something into his palm, and was gone before Genichirou could blink.

* * *

Room 523.

Genichirou wasn't sure, but he thought that Seiichi's handwriting had gotten messier.

He stared at the scrap of paper, at a loss.

"Sanada-san, they're closing up!" Akaya tugged on his elbow. "Everyone else is gone." When Genichirou didn't move, Akaya prodded him again. "What're you looking at?" He plucked the scrap of paper out of Genichirou's fingers.

"Akaya, that's rude--" Genichirou stopped when he saw Akaya's face.

"Did Seiichi-san say anything when he gave this to you?" Akaya asked.

"That he'd see me later," Genichirou said. "How did you know--"

"Why are you still _here_?" Akaya demanded, and closed his hand on Genichirou's elbow, dragging him down the hall. "Did you drive yourself? Or should I get you a cab?"

"Akaya, what the hell are you talking about?"

Akaya shot a look over his shoulder that said that he couldn't believe he'd had such a stupid senpai. "Do you think Seiichi-san gives his hotel room out to just anybody, Sanada-san?" He shook his head. "Of course he doesn't. I gotta tell you, this is probably your last chance, Sanada-san, so you don't want to screw this up. I'd better get you a cab. It would suck if you wrecked your car going to see him."

He had a phone out and was dialing it before Genichirou could get a word in edgewise. "Akaya, what are you talking about?" he demanded as they hit the sidewalk and the cool air shocked him out of his daze.

Akaya hung up and rounded on him, and before Genichirou quite knew what he was doing, his hands were flying over Genichirou's shoulders, tweaking the lapels of his suit and straightening his collar. "Don't you think it's time you and Seiichi-san stopped dancing around each other?" he asked. "I figure he's about ready to give up. I had a hell of a time getting him to come back to Japan this time." He stopped, squinted, and undid the top button of Genichirou's shirt. "He won't do it again, unless he has a reason to." He hooked a finger in the knot of Genichirou's tie, loosening it again. After another thoughtful look, he buried his hands in Genichirou's hair, rumpling it. "There. Seiichi-san won't know what hit him."

Genichirou wasn't entirely sure that he knew what had hit _him_. "You sent me that package, didn't you?" he asked.

Akaya laughed as the taxi pulled up. "Took you long enough." He dragged Genichirou over to the car and stuffed him into the back seat, and gave the driver a terse set of instructions and a wad of bills. "Good luck, Sanada-san!"

Genichirou settled into his seat, a little dazed, and the driver laughed as he put the car in gear. "Hot date?" he asked.

Genichirou looked out the window. "I guess so," he said, and concentrated on not letting the butterflies in his stomach make him throw up.

* * *

Seiichi was wearing a loosely-belted yukata when he answered the door, and he looked as surprised to see Genichirou as Genichirou was to be standing there. "Genichirou," he said, after a moment. "You came."

His mouth was dry, and he had to swallow before he could speak. "I did," he said. He cleared his throat. "I hope... it's not too late?"

"No," Seiichi said. "It's not." The corners of his mouth lift. "You'd better come inside."

"Thank you," Genichirou said. Something about that made Seiichi laugh as he stepped aside to let Genichirou in. He turned to Seiichi as the door clicked shut behind him. "Seiichi, I--"

"Sh." Seiichi shook his head. "Save that part for later." He stepped into Genichirou, hands sliding up his chest.

Genichirou wound his arms around Seiichi, bringing him closer. "All right," he said, as Seiichi's hands slipped into his hair, pulling him into a kiss.

* * *

When he opened his eyes, the clock by the bed informed him that it was nearly four in the morning, and Seiichi was standing in front of the window, bare skin bathed in the glow of lights from the street.

"You're going to scandalize someone," Genichirou said.

"I've never minded that." Seiichi's voice sounded distant.

"I suppose you haven't," Genichirou agreed, weighing the warmth of the blankets against Seiichi standing there. It was no contest, really.

Seiichi's skin was cool against his, when he leaned back against Genichirou's chest. Genichirou rested his chin on Seiichi's shoulder, and a hand on one sharp hip bone. He pressed the other hand flat against Seiichi's stomach, and smiled when Seiichi covered it with his own hand.

Seiichi sighed. "Why did this take so long, Genichirou?"

Genichirou closed his eyes. So. It was later. "I don't know," he said. "I never thought you'd want... this."

The laugh that shook Seiichi was disbelieving. "You didn't?"

"No," Genichirou said, so softly that he could barely hear himself. "I didn't."

"Are you blind, Genichirou?" Seiichi asked.

"Maybe," Genichirou said, and hesitated. "Tennis... is your passion. And I gave it up." He took a breath. "That seemed to disappoint you."

Seiichi's hand tightened on his. "Tennis isn't my only passion because I wanted it to be." He sounded tired. "I'd thought you were going to follow me, after high school."

"I wanted to," he said, into the curve of Seiichi's throat. Seiichi waited, silently, until he added, "Tennis was not... an _appropriate_ career."

The muscles in Seiichi's throat moved against his cheek. "Wasn't it?"

"Not for me." Genichirou took a breath. "I'm sorry." Perhaps, if he'd been stronger, or more stubborn...

"So that's why," Seiichi said.

"That's why," Genichirou replied, softly.

Seiichi turned and slide his arms around Genichirou, tight enough to make his ribs creak. "They had one son already! Why did they have to have you, too?" He shook Genichirou. "Why didn't you say something? We could have found a way--a sponsorship--something!"

"Seiichi..." He touched Seiichi's face, tracing over the scowl on his lips. "I didn't want tennis, if I couldn't have you, too. They aren't separate, for me."

"Idiot." But Seiichi's mouth was softening.

"I'm sorry," he said, again.

"It can't be helped now." Seiichi leaned into him, forehead resting on his shoulder. "Three years," he said, muffled.

"What?"

"I'm going to retire when I'm thirty," Seiichi said. "Before I lose all of my edge. Before some upstart comes along and embarrasses me. So you've got three years, Genichirou."

"To do what, exactly?" Genichirou asked, cautiously.

Seiichi raised his head, and there was just enough light from the window to make his eyes gleam. "To figure out what you really want to be doing, instead of crunching numbers for the government." He stroked a hand over Genichirou's cheek. "You're more than that, Genichirou, even if your family can't see as much."

Genichirou's breath caught. "Seiichi."

"It won't be easy," Seiichi said, softly.

No, of course it wouldn't--it wouldn't be easy at all. His parents were stubborn, and conservative, and were already hinting that they thought it was time he settled down.

Genichirou caught Seiichi's hand and held it against his cheek. "I don't care," he said, softly. "Nothing worth doing is ever easy." He pressed Seiichi closer. "Three years will be plenty." He kissed the corner of Seiichi's jaw, lips sliding along Seiichi's skin to find his mouth. "I won't have to wait three years to see you again, will I?"

Seiichi's laughter was warm against his mouth. "Of course not," he said, and kissed Genichirou again. "Take me to bed again, Genichirou," he ordered.

Genichirou laughed, and obeyed.

They had a lot of time to make up for.

**end**


End file.
